


Seeking Scorpius

by abstractconcept



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cross-Generation Relationship, M/M, Scorpius is 17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 22:09:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: For Harry it’s love at first sight. Scorpius, however, requires some convincing. Lots of convincing. (Harry pursues Scorpius.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stonegrad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonegrad/gifts).



> In which Harry Potter is extremely immature, and profoundly silly.
> 
> I'm still uploading stuff, and I don't even know when I wrote this or why. It's just a fic I have in my email. *shrugs* But I enjoyed Harry's doofiness when I read it, so there you go. Honestly though, if I had my druthers, I'd age Scorpius up about five years. I think it would work much better. Maybe I should. >: /

“And while Albus Severus’ performance in Defence class is, as you might expect, advanced for his age, we would like to see him bring his Potions grade up.”

“Uh-huh.” Harry wasn’t sure what more to add to this. So Al didn’t have the knack for Potions. So what? Harry could relate.

Ginny began asking the Headmaster questions and Harry found his attention wandering. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about Al—it was only that conferences with the Headmaster had been instituted before James even came to school, so they weren’t exactly new and exciting. Besides, Al was doing fine. This was his last year, and his grades were solid. Not spectacular, but solid.

Harry found himself gazing out the window, tuning out his ex-wife and staring at the Quidditch Pitch. 

Practice must have been ending, because everyone was clapping each other’s shoulders and dismounting their brooms. The boys split up from the girls, headed for locker rooms on opposite sides of the Pitch.

One boy walked a little apart from the others, slender and elfish with a halo of messy blond hair. As Harry watched, one of the boys tossed him a Quaffle, and another tried to snatch it away. The boy spun away and skipped back a couple of steps, then danced lightly through the crowd, tossing the Quaffle ahead. A breeze raked through his hair and his cheeks were pink with exertion, a smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

Suddenly Harry sat straight up. His whole body seemed to have been put on pause. His breath was gone from his lungs, his frame completely frozen—even his heart seemed to have stopped.

The boy looked up then, right at Harry, and Harry gulped a breath of air.

“Are you all right, Mr. Potter?”

Someone called to the boy and he ran to catch up, his long, slim shadow racing behind him.

Harry sat back in his chair, his heart abruptly racing as well, as though it would like to leap out and chase after the boy.

“Fine,” he said shakily, and he hardly recognized his own voice. “I’m fine.”

He was fine. It was only that he felt like he’d been hit by a train going a hundred miles an hour, one that was carrying the sunrise, an amazing erection, a bunch of glitter and perhaps a boxcar full of fine champagne. In fact, it didn’t really feel like being hit by a train at all. 

It was a lot more like falling in love.

oOoOoOo

“Dad? What are you doing?” Albus Severus surveyed the wreckage of his room with his nose wrinkled in disgust—not that he had any room to talk, Harry reflected. The place didn’t really look much different from when he’d started.

“Where are your school pictures?” he asked, swiping another row of books off a shelf. There were some magazines filled with naked women behind them, but these didn’t interest Harry.

Al had turned an interesting shade of red. “Jeez, Dad, they’re on the _bottom_ ,” the boy grumbled. He didn’t say anything about the magazines, and neither did Harry. After all, the boy was almost eighteen, and they weren’t hurting anything.

Harry found the book of pictures in a heavy, leather-bound tome. “Is this last year’s?” he asked, sitting on Al’s lumpy unmade bed. 

“Yes. Why?”

“Just looking for something.” Harry flipped feverishly through the pages, past clubs and cliques, silly Beaters flexing for the camera and groups of giggling schoolgirls slyly winking up at him and blowing kisses. 

Then he got to the single pictures arranged in alphabetical order by last name, and Harry began to slow down. By the time he’d reached Al, he was starting to have doubts. 

“I hate that picture,” Al remarked. “I had so many spots last year!”

Harry hardly heard him. He continued to scan the pictures. Where was that handsome lad he’d seen earlier? Wasn’t he in Al’s class? But the boy _couldn’t_ have been younger than Al, could he? Merlin, this was bad enough as it was without getting a thing for someone even younger than his son! Harry scanned the pages slower and slower, looking at each picture carefully.

But suddenly, there he was, hair brushed into soft curls, smiling up from the schoolbook. For a long, long moment, Harry simply stared, enthralled. He’d never seen anyone so beautiful before. 

And then his eyes drifted down to the name below the picture.

“UNGUNGHAAACK!” Harry shouted, jabbing a disbelieving finger at the picture. Then he dropped the book and vaulted off the bed and out of Al’s room.

“Dad? What the—what happened?” he could hear Albus Severus yell behind him. “Why are you freaking out over a picture of Scorpius Malfoy, anyway?”

oOoOoOo

Harry stared at his bedroom ceiling, fists balled at his side. He was determined not to wank to the thought of his son’s classmate and Draco’s progeny. In fact, he thought it might be better if he never wanked again, just in case. Sure, it was a completely impossible goal, but people had said that about killing Voldemort, and he’d managed that in the end.

On the other hand, this was _much_ more insidious. This was sex. Okay, no. No, it wasn’t sex. It was—it was a fantasy. Because while fantasizing about the super-hot seventeen-year-old blond pinup boy of the next generation of Slytherins was bad, actually doing something about it would be worse.

And what could he possibly do about it? Go down to the school and craftily find some excuse for getting into the boy’s class and show off a few really great impressive spells and then give Scorpius his biggest, most charming smile and say, “Hi, there. I’m a really powerful wizard who can do loads of fantastic things. Want me to show you some of them?”

Because really, that only had an outside chance of working. 

Perhaps he ought to add that he was rich, too.

Sighing heavily, Harry squeezed his eyes shut and reached beneath the covers.

And he began to wank.

oOoOoOo

Harry surreptitiously whipped out a pocket mirror and eyed himself. He gave his fingers a quick lick and tried to plaster down his hair in the back, but it popped right back up again. So much for _that._ Then he bared his teeth and ran his tongue over them—no food, so that was good.

He threw open the door. “Hello, kids,” he said heartily.

Twenty heads swivelled and twenty pairs of eyes ogled him.

“Hello, Harry.” Bill Weasley grinned widely, and Harry couldn’t help grinning back. Bill was a lot of fun, and he’d been really decent even throughout Harry and Ginny’s divorce. “Everyone, this is Harry Potter. He’s volunteered to show you a few things.”

Harry strode to the front of the class, trying not to show how nervous he was. “So, seventh years, eh? Bet you think you know a thing or two about defensive magic.”

There were a few ‘yeses’, some mumbled ‘nos’, and quite a bit of awed silence.

Harry stood behind Bill’s desk and eyed the class. Yes, _there_ he was, in the second row. He didn’t look particularly interested, but he didn’t look repulsed, either. Harry supposed that was a start. Al, who’d had forewarning of Harry’s demonstration, was at the back of the class, pretending not to know him. It was a little irksome, but Hermione assured him that at seventeen, even Jesus probably pretended not to know his dad. It was a teenager thing, apparently. Which might work in Harry’s favour.

“All right,” Harry said. “So what would you do if I threw one of _these_ at you?” He snapped his wand like a whip and a giant fireball erupted from the tip of it, rolling and roaring down the middle aisle of the class and straight out the door to explode when it hit the other side of the hall. The students gasped and ducked, hands shielding their heads.

Scorpius raised his hand. “I’d use Thaddeus’ Thaumaturgic-Thermogenic Scattering Spell,” he said, then added, “sir.”

Harry stared at him.

“Er, isn’t that right?”

“What? Oh. Yes.” Harry’d sort of zoned out when Scorpius actually spoke—it was like a choir of angels! God almighty; who knew that by adding just a sweet drop of huskiness you could turn that snooty, upper-crust Malfoy drawl into something so arousing? “Yeah,” Harry repeated dreamily. “Five points to Slytherin.” 

“Daaaad!” Albus Severus objected from the back of the room.

Harry scowled. “What? You answer a question right, I’ll give _you_ points. But if you’re just going to sit back there with your head ducked down like a frightened turtle I’ll give them to someone else.” 

Scorpius smiled a smug little smile, and it was all Harry could do not to swoon on the spot. 

Harry wracked his brains for other questions to ask the boy. Unfortunately, the ones that were going through his head were all along the lines of _Come here often?_ (vetoed because Harry knew exactly how stupid that would sound when Scorpius had to come to class every day whether he liked or not), _What’s a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?_ (again, Harry already knew), and _Did it hurt?_ (vetoed because a Malfoy might take offence at being asked if he’d fallen from heaven, and Harry didn’t know his affiliation yet). 

Instead he asked, “What about wandless magic? Can anyone do wandless magic?” There might have been other hands raised, but Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from Scorpius, who’d been licking his lips.

Scorpius looked nervously around at the other students, perhaps wondering why he was the focus of so much attention. “I know a little,” he said.

“Yeah? Can you do this?” Harry levitated a chair and held it above his head. He added another, then another, then a desk—

Scorpius blushed a little. “Probably not—that is—I don’t think—”

“But it’s impressive, right?” Harry said in a hopeful voice.

“Erm. Yes, sir. Impressive.”

“I can do _all_ the desks, if you like,” Harry added.

There was a strange look on Scorpius’ face.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Bill put in.

“What? Oh. Right.” Harry dropped the furniture with a thump. He tried to look serious. “Those are just a few of the things that, er, uh, that one can use in a difficult situation,” he said. “But having people who support you is a big help, too. And when you really want to win, you have to learn to not mind getting your hands dirty.”

“Valuable insights, Harry,” Bill said.

Harry exchanged a grin with him. “Thanks! I can also fly faster than a dragon and I’m good at duelling!”

Most of the class was smiling and chattering quietly in an excited sort of way.

“Does anyone know the best way to win a duel?” Harry asked. “Scorpius?” he added, before any hands could shoot into the air.

The Malfoy progeny glared at him. “I can’t imagine.”

“Er . . . you . . . er . . . practice,” Harry said, unnerved by the angry look. “You’ve got to get, um, used to firing off curses really fast. Use a straw dummy and work on your speed, that’s my advice.”

“Good advice!” Bill said, clapping his hands. The rest of the room followed in an embarrassed sort of way. “Any questions for Harry?”

One girl’s hand shot up. “Were you afraid? When, er, when You-Know-Who was, you know, after you?”

“Of course,” Harry said. “I was just a kid, and I hadn’t even done anything to him. Anyone else?”

He took several other questions, but he noticed that Scorpius never raised his hand. He had to wonder why.

“I think that’s it for today,” Bill finally said. “Let’s give our speaker a round of applause! Take a bow, Harry,” he added, winking.

Harry laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Knock it off,” he said. “Next thing you’ll have them asking for autographs.”

oOoOoOo

Harry tapped his fingers on the table, waiting impatiently. He was supposed to meet Al for a Saturday brunch in Hogsmeade, and Al was late, as always.

Finally Harry spotted his son’s wayward hair bobbing in the distance, and Harry stood up and waved. “Over here!”

Al was glowing red when he finally reached the café table and sat heavily. “Merlin, do you have to be so . . . you know . . . flamboyant?” Al asked. 

“What?”

Al waved his hand in a crazy arc, making a goofy expression. “Over here!” he said in a voice that was probably meant to mimic someone mentally challenged.

Harry huffed. “Yes, I have to be like that,” he said. “If I don’t embarrass the hell out of you, who will?”

Al looked unimpressed.

“Anyway. So. Er. Class yesterday,” Harry said, trying to sidle up to the topic as casually as possible.

“Class yesterday,” Al repeated darkly, “was an absolute disaster. I can’t believe you went and juggled the desks like some sort of clown.”

“I didn’t _juggle_ them,” Harry pointed out. A little voice inside his head suggested he probably should have tried it. Wouldn’t that have been more impressive? “Anyway, did, um, did Scorpius say anything? About me?”

Al brightened at the question. “Yes! He complained to the whole class afterwards that you were just as much of a bully and a berk as his dad always said and wanted to know why you were picking on him.”

Harry stared. “But I wasn’t picking on him!”

“You were!” Al countered in a cheerful voice. “You called on him every time. But that was okay, because everyone knows the Malfoys were Death Eaters and it made you look a little tougher. Would’ve been better if he wasn’t so young, but it was something, anyway.”

“But I wasn’t picking on him!” Harry repeated, feeling panicked. Was _that_ how Scorpius saw it? Harry thought back to his first year, and the way Snape had called on him for every little thing. And Snape had hated him. He certainly hadn’t been flirting, anyway. Probably not. _Definitely_ not, Harry assured himself. Probably definitely not.

“Anyway, it was great,” Albus Severus said with great satisfaction. He picked up a menu and studied it. “What’s the biggest thing they’ve got on here? I’m hungry.”

Scorpius thought Harry had been bullying him? That was just great. Harry groaned, massaging his temples.

Then he brightened. Well, at least this was an excuse to visit Scorpius again, wasn’t it? And that was all he needed, really. Every moment spent in Scorpius’ company was a moment in heaven.

And Harry was going to steal as many of them as he possibly could.

oOoOoOo

“Hi,” Harry said brightly, stepping into the room. He arrived just as class was ending.

“Harry!” Bill answered. “Two classes in a row. This is a surprise. Did you . . . need to talk about Al?” he asked, lowering his voice.

“No, I know Al’s doing great,” Harry said.

“Just like his old man,” Bill agreed.

“I just—um—wanted to speak with Scorpius for a moment.” Harry didn’t look, but he could _feel_ Scorpius’ head turn and his eyes lock onto Harry like a couple of lasers. “Just wanted to chat about something,” Harry promised. “Won’t be a moment.”

Bill smiled. “Well . . . all right. Scorpius? If you would stay a moment, Mr. Potter would like a quick word with you.”

Glowering, Scorpius dropped into his chair once more as the other students filed out, throwing many curious glances over their shoulders.

Harry followed Bill to the door and grinned when Bill raised his eyebrows. “Just need a bit of privacy,” Harry explained, shutting the door.

Harry turned, back to the door, and forced a smile. “Hi,” he said.

Scorpius eyed him suspiciously. “What did you want?”

“Nothing,” Harry said. “It’s only that Al said you thought I was targeting you the other day. I wasn’t. Really. It’s just that you seem, er, very bright, and you need to be challenged.” Harry congratulated himself on this spectacular little fiction.

“Really?” Scorpius replied, arching an eyebrow. “And you hardly know me.”

“I’d like to get to know you,” Harry replied. 

Now Scorpius looked a little less threatened, but still suspicious. “What do you want to know about me?”

“Well. Erm. What’s your sign?” Harry asked, casually leaning against Scorpius’ desk.

“Guess,” Scorpius said dryly.

Harry thought of the boy’s effortless sensuality. “Not a Scorpio?” he guessed.

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “First try. And it was such a _difficult_ one, too.”

“I’m a Leo,” Harry told him with a disarming grin. 

“I know,” Scorpius answered. “Every year the Quibbler runs a front page special on what a _special_ bloke you are,” he explained when Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “This year was your magical forty-second birthday, yeah? Get anything special?”

Harry winced. “Nothing special enough to make up for them running my age in the paper,” he muttered.

Scorpius laughed. “Men don’t care if people know about their age,” he said scornfully. “Not unless they’re bent. Are you bent, Mr. Potter?” He arched a brow, and suddenly Harry wondered if he _knew_. 

“Yes,” he said quietly.

Scorpius’ other eyebrow went up to join the first. Apparently he _didn’t_ know, then. “I’d be careful about who I shared that little nugget with,” he said. “That would make a tasty little blackmail tidbit, wouldn’t it? Hell, I’m considering making a go of it myself.”

“Yeah? What’s your price?” Harry said hopefully. 

Scorpius gave him a sideways look. “You’re _weird_ ,” he said. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

Harry shrugged. “Normal is what you make of it. Anyway, the people who know me and care about me already know.”

“Including Al?” 

Harry couldn’t help his lips thinning. “Yes,” he said shortly. Al did know, but Harry didn’t like to be reminded of the fact. Al had not taken the news especially well. Al was convinced that ninety percent of anything Harry did, he did specifically to embarrass his children, and Harry’s divulgence that he liked men and big musical numbers had done little to change Al’s impression.

Scorpius looked at him pensively, sucking his quill. Harry would have given every last Galleon he owned to be that quill right now. “So that’s where he gets it from.”

“What? Who?”

“Albus Severus. He doesn’t like homosexuals. He must have been upset after the divorce.”

“He seems more upset about my homosexuality than he did about the divorce,” Harry admitted. 

Scorpius shrugged. “Lots of families split. It’s pretty common. Having a gay, famous dad is probably a bit weirder.”

Harry half smiled. “Yeah, he definitely doesn’t like the famous part.”

“He’s a little bit shy,” Scorpius opined. “He’ll grow out of it. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Harry became aware that they were discussing Al like a shared problem, a parental issue that needed to be dealt with. Funnily enough, one of the things that had been a stake in the heart of Harry’s marriage was the fact that he and Ginny couldn’t manage that. And here he was, talking about his private life with Scorpius Malfoy. Talking about _Al_ with Scorpius Malfoy. Talking about Al like Scorpius was Al’s peace-making little stepmother and— _oh, my._ Now Harry was picturing Scorpius in a cute little pink apron, baking pies and being domestic. Maybe wearing nothing _but_ a cute little pink apron. Harry let out a long sigh.

If _that_ didn’t turn Harry on, he didn’t know what would. His whole body tingled.

Scorpius was looking at him oddly. “Are you all right?”

“I . . . was just thinking what a good . . . dad you’d be, someday,” Harry said, barely having to lie. 

Scorpius laughed gruffly. “Well, that is _not_ going to happen.”

“You may change your mind someday.”

“Doesn’t matter if I do,” the boy said shortly.

“Why not?”

Scorpius stared at his hands for a long, long moment, looking distant. Finally he gave a funny, diffident little shrug and looked Harry in the eye. “Because I’m like you,” he said. “Pillow-biter and all that. Hard for two men to pop out a kid, isn’t it?”

Harry fought back the urge to grab Scorpius round the waist and waltz him around the room a couple of times. “Don’t see why,” he finally got out. “I managed it.”

Looking unimpressed, Scorpius replied, “I am _not_ going to stoop to boffing a Weasley to get a child,” he said.

“Watch your mouth,” Harry warned. “That family’s been very good to me, and Ginny is a kind woman and a good mother.”

“Then why aren’t you still with her?”

Harry pointed to himself. “Gay, remember? Plus, we fought like crazy. We’re both too stubborn, too temperamental.” Harry remembered the day he’d realised; they’d been fighting over something, and the fight had gotten out of control. They were both shouting and throwing things and transfiguring everything in sight and then, in the doorway, Harry saw Lily, shoulders shaking as she cried. He’d filed the very next day for divorce. He and Ginny couldn’t get along—and the children couldn’t continue to see them like that. 

On the plus side, his relationship with Ginny had improved right away, and though he’d been jealous at first when she started seeing someone, they’d soon settled into a comfortable routine. Ginny had recently gotten remarried, and Harry was happy for her; Scott was a good bloke, and a really laid-back one at that. 

But Harry, Harry had a hard time finding a date, and—

Scorpius whistled softly.

“What?”

“Where were you?” the boy asked. “I ask you a simple question and you go floating off to backstory land in your head or something?”

“Something like that,” Harry admitted.

“You’re weird,” Scorpius insisted once again. “At any rate, I’m glad you weren’t singling me out. Was there something else you wanted?”

“Do you know how to Occlude?”

Scorpius frowned at this random turn of conversation. “My father has demonstrated.”

“But you can’t do it yourself,” Harry persisted.

“No.”

“I can teach you.”

Scorpius cocked his head to the side. “Why bother?”

Chewing his lip, Harry gave this some thought. Voldemort was long dead, and Occlumency had become a specialised and rarely necessary skill. “Because,” he said, groping for a good answer, “you’re a homosexual. Who comes from a pureblood family,” he added with sudden inspiration. “It’s the sort of thing you want to be able to shut away, if you need to.”

Scorpius looked down at his hands. “I suppose that’s true enough, but not really what I was going after. I meant, why would you want to teach me? What are you getting out of it?”

Harry grinned. “Trust me, I’ll enjoy every last minute. I’ll get something out of it, don’t you worry.”

Scorpius sighed. “You’re weird,” he repeated. Then he looked Harry up and down very slowly, taking in the expensive shirt Harry’d just bought, the shiny shoes, the silk tie. “All right,” he finally relented.

Harry nearly whooped in joy, and jumped off his seat. “Great! See you Saturday night at _La Caprice_.”

“What? Why are we meeting at a restaurant?” Scorpius demanded.

Harry was already halfway out the door, intent on getting clear before Scorpius could change his mind. “Can’t Occlude on an empty stomach!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Eight o’clock!”

“You’re _weird!_ ” Scorpius yelled after him.

Harry nearly skipped all the way home.

oOoOoOo

Harry whistled happily as he straightened his collar.

“Dad! You’re not actually going to _wear_ that, are you?”

Harry sighed heavily. Both Lily and James were out; James had his own flat, and Lily was staying with friends. But Albus Severus was, as usual, underfoot and ready to complain about Harry, no matter what Harry did. He liked having the kids around for the holidays; he’d always wanted a large family, and they could be a lot of fun. On the other hand, ever since they’d reached puberty, they were just as likely to be whinging brats, and Al was especially bad.

“I don’t know why you’re upset,” Harry responded. “I’ve been told this is a very nice colour on me.”

“Dad, it’s _pink_ ,” Al pointed out. 

Harry raised a finger to check the boy. “Technically, the shade is known as tea rose,” he informed his son.

“Da-aaa-aaa-ad,” Al moaned, drawing the syllable out as only a tortured adolescent can.

“Stop it,” Harry commanded. “I have a date tonight.”

“A date?” Al repeated, horrified.

“I thought that would please you. You’ll have the flat to yourself to watch Muggle movies and jimmy my liquor cabinet open.”

“That only happened once!”

“At any rate, I don’t expect I’ll be out late.” Privately, Harry wondered if Scorpius had a curfew.

“Do you _really_ have to wear that shirt?” Al was asking. “In _public?_ ”

“Yes, I really do,” Harry replied. Speaking of tea rose, perhaps he should bring flowers? It couldn’t hurt. Harry ruffled Al’s hair. “Try to stay out of trouble, would you?”

Al glowered. “If you stay out of public view,” he countered.

“That’s a good lad,” Harry answered absently. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

“Whatever.”

oOoOoOo

“Hi!”

“Um. Are flowers necessary for Occlumency?” Scorpius asked sceptically.

“Yes,” Harry answered in a firm voice as he slid into the booth. “Because naturally you don’t want anyone to be able to discover a man brought you flowers.”

“Well . . .”

“Trust me. Anyway . . . do you like them?”

Scorpius couldn’t seem to contain a crooked smile. “I suppose they’re acceptable,” he said with cool amusement. 

Harry grinned back. “I knew you’d like them.”

“Is that right? And how did you know that?”

“They’re red,” Harry said casually.

Scorpius looked at him for a long moment as though maybe he wouldn’t take the bait, but finally he relented. “All right. So what does red have to do with me?”

Harry looked at perfect mouth and smiled. “Because red,” he said, “is _definitely_ your colour.”

Laughing, Scorpius shook his head. “You’re really one of a kind, you know that?” He picked up his menu. “Are we really eating before Occlumency?”

“Sure. We’ll share a bottle of wine, too,” Harry said from behind his own menu, not quite able to meet Scorpius’ eyes. 

“Now, I _know that’s_ wrong,” Scorpius said. “Wine and Occlumency definitely don’t mix. Alcohol lowers your defences,” he pointed out.

“I hadn’t considered that,” Harry lied through his teeth. “But we’ll have some anyway.”

“What? Why?”

“If you can do it after a few glasses of wine, you can probably do it whenever you need to, right? It just makes it that much more challenging,” Harry insisted. “And you have to love a challenge,” he added, smiling sweetly at Scorpius.

As Harry’d predicted, the wine loosened Scorpius up. Really, he’d never met a boy that young who was so cool and poised. By about the fourth glass, Scorpius’ face was flushed and his hair was beginning to be mussed. Harry looked at it fondly, wanting to add to its rumpled appearance, but it was still too soon to try petting the boy.

“So, right,” Scorpius was saying, waving his glass around. “My father says, ‘Why don’t you like girls?’ right? And I told him, I told him, I tried to tell him . . . he’s my dad, you know?”

“Yes, he certainly is,” Harry said.

“And it’s not as though I don’t like him. I mean, I mean, he’s my _dad._ But he doesn’t ever cut loose. Everything has to be just so.”

“And he doesn’t approve of the idea of you being with a man?”

“He just doesn’t approve of sex,” Scorpius declared. “Because it’s messy. And we don’t _do_ messy in the Malfoy family. If we’re going to have anything up our arses, it has to be a stick.”

Harry laughed. “Draco’s really not that bad,” he said. “And he’s no trouble at all to stand up to. You’d see it if you gave it a try.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve faced him down _loads_ of times,” Harry said carelessly, not really noticing the way Scorpius was looking at him.

The boy lifted his glass to his lips, but didn’t drink. Instead, he ran a tongue over the rim of the glass. “You did do that, didn’t you?” he said. He set the glass down carefully. “How did you do it, anyway?”

“Oh, I would just call him Ferret-face and he’d call me Scarhead and then maybe we’d duel and he always lost. Once Hermione slapped him. He ran off crying. Try doing that,” Harry advised with relish. “He doesn’t like that.”

“Amusing,” Scorpius said, rolling his eyes. “I _meant_ , how did you go from being all . . . wild and brave and reckless to wearing pink shirts and sipping chardonnay?”

Harry was affronted. “I’m still wild and brave and reckless,” he insisted. 

“Really?”

“I tricked you into dinner, didn’t I?” Harry said cheekily.

Scorpius fell back in his seat. “So this _was_ all a trick. You weren’t going to teach me Occlumency?”

“I’ll try. To be honest, I don’t really know it. I was always kind of hopeless at it.”

“And when did you plan on telling me the truth?” Scorpius crossed his arms over his chest.

“Um. Right now?” Harry squirmed beneath the boy’s glare. “Well, I thought I could probably fake it. After all, I didn’t necessarily have to do any Occlumency myself. I figured I could use Legilimency on you and have you practice pushing me back out, because I can do Legilimency.”

Scorpius was folding his napkin and getting to his feet.

“Wait—what are you doing?”

“I think I should go.”

Harry sobered up quickly. “No, I can teach you. I will. Really. It’s just the wine making me a bit of an idiot.”

“You were a bit of an idiot before the wine,” Scorpius pointed out.

Harry got to his feet. “Don’t leave,” he pleaded. “I really can teach you. I’ll take you out right now. No more messing about, I promise.” He held out his hand to Scorpius.

The youth hesitated a long moment before reluctantly reaching out. “All right,” he said.

Harry smiled, pulled Scorpius closer, and Apparated.

oOoOoOo

“You should _not_ have done that,” Scorpius said after waiting a few moments, doubled over like he might be sick. “If you’d wanted me to Apparate somewhere, I could have done it myself. And someone could have _seen_ us.”

“Not without knowing where you were going. Anyway, relax. I know what I’m doing. Besides, no one was interested. Muggles never pay attention.”

Scorpius looked around the dim room. “Where are we?”

“The Shrieking Shack,” Harry told him.

Scorpius shivered.

“What? It’s private. No one ever comes here, so we won’t be interrupted.” He went over and lit a few candles. He’d taken a little time earlier in the evening to prepare. He’d tried to tidy the place up a little bit and make it less depressing. 

“What’s with the pictures?” Scorpius asked, nodding to one.

The sunsets had mostly been a ploy to make it seem more like a romantic tryst, but Harry wasn’t about to admit that. Scorpius already seemed edgy. Instead, Harry shrugged. “When you do Occlumency, you need to clear your mind. I find it helpful to focus on something like this. Sort of a meditative thing.”

“Right,” Scorpius said, but Harry couldn’t tell whether the boy believed him. 

“Ready?”

“Er, yes.”

Harry frowned; Scorpius didn’t look ready. All the same, Harry didn’t think this would hurt the boy. And if Scorpius were to be overwhelmed, even fall, Harry would be eager to catch him. “Brace yourself,” he said.

Scorpius nodded stiffly, unconsciously positioning himself as if he were about to duel.

“ _Legilimens!_ ” Harry cried.

Harry reeled at the images suddenly unravelling through his mind: gifts wrapped like jewels under a Christmas tree . . . a piercing blue sky, Scorpius reaching out, hand closing over the still-beating wings of the Snitch . . . Draco and Scorpius yelling at each other until Astoria intervened and pushed them apart. 

Scorpius shouted, and Harry quickly backed out of the youth’s mind. “Sorry,” he said quickly. He’d actually only performed the spell a handful of times and had never got comfortable with it. He hoped he hadn’t hurt or upset the boy.

Scorpius’ fringe was falling into his face, which had turned rather pinkish. “Not—not your fault,” he managed. 

Harry remembered a particular nugget of knowledge Snape had bestowed on him long ago. “You have to empty your mind,” he advised.

Scorpius gave him a cutting glance. “ _Some_ of us probably find that _easier_ than others.”

Laughing ruefully, Harry smoothed his hair down. “I wasn’t so great at it myself at your age.” He’d never become great at it, either, but the less said about that, the better. “Look, try to imagine I’m not here, all right?” He stepped forward. “Shut your eyes.” As Scorpius complied, Harry reached out, touching his face. “Take deep breaths, now. Calm yourself. Count your heartbeats.” 

Scorpius nodded a little, his sweet mouth forming unvoiced numbers as he counted. 

“Good,” Harry murmured. “Good.” He stroked the boy’s jaw with the pad of his thumb. It was probably the most he would ever get, considering the age gap and the societal stigma. Harry felt an aching sadness and stepped back. “Ready?”

Looking up through fluttery lashes. “Yes,” he said, this time sounding much more certain. “I’m ready.”

“ _Legilimens!_ ” 

Once more Harry was flung headlong into Scorpius’ memories, but these were _much_ more intimate. Scorpius and another boy deep in shadow, bodies pressed close together in a subtle flex and bend as they rutted together, still clothed . . . Scorpius with lips parted slightly, eyeing a schoolmate in the showers as the steam rose up in clouds . . . a skin magazine with naked men flexing, Scorpius’ pale hand fisting his red cock . . . Scorpius licking his wine glass, looking directly at Harry . . . 

Harry gasped, felt a sharp jolt to his tailbone and blinked. Somehow he’d ended up on the floor.

“Apologies. Are you hurt?” Scorpius asked. 

Harry couldn’t hold back a crooked grin. “That’s not going to work every time,” he pointed out. “You can’t count on your enemies being smitten with you.”

“ _Ree-eally?_ ” Scorpius drawled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Harry shook his head. “You’re bound to happen across someone impervious to your charms—someday.” Scorpius offered a hand up, which Harry was only too happy to grab, and only too sorry to let go. “Once more?”

“Just once,” Scorpius replied. “I ought to be getting home.”

So he _did_ have a curfew. “ _Legilimens!_ ”

Scorpius was standing outside the manor, trim and glamorous in an Italian cloak of black wool, snow falling thick and heavy and settling on his shoulders, hair, and eyelashes . . . he looked up, and if Harry didn’t know better, he would think Scorpius was looking directly into his eyes, chin set defiantly . . . the boy in the snow raised his wand even as his present counterpart did the same, and they cried, “ _Protego!_ ” in unison.

Harry tried to pull out of the spell, but it was too late; the Dementors were circling, ready to suck Sirius’ soul away, and a young Harry ran out of the woods to stop them with a powerful Patronus . . . Harry and his friends had helped win the house cup, coming back from behind to beat Slytherin, and everyone was cheering . . . Harry was standing awkwardly as Cho Chang cried into his shoulder—good grief, he hadn’t thought about that in years . . . Harry was staring out one of Hogwarts’ windows, watching a stunning teenage boy run along the Quidditch Pitch, his hair shining in the sun . . . Voldemort was raising his wand, there was a flash of green, and Harry knew he was dying . . . dying . . .

“Harry!” Scorpius was shouting. 

Harry woke with a jolt. Scorpius was shaking his shoulders roughly, and Harry pushed his hands off. “I’m fine.” He sat up, rubbing the back of his head. He must have fallen—hard—and hit it with enough force to knock himself out for a few moments. 

“Thank god,” Scorpius said, sinking back on his heels and covering his face. “I thought I’d _killed_ you. Or _he_ had.” 

Scorpius sounded so shaky that it warmed Harry’s heart; the boy had sincerely been worried about him.

“He didn’t get me the first several dozen times,” he said in a gentle voice, brushing Scorpius’ hair back. “It isn’t going to happen now.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Scorpius took his hands away from his face and Harry saw how pale he was, his eyes glistening, though he didn’t actually seem to be crying.

“Right as rain,” Harry replied, though he wondered if Scorpius’ panic was more due to the thought of being alone in the Shrieking Shack with Harry Potter’s body than the welfare of Harry himself.

“I’m terribly sorry. What can I do to help?” Scorpius asked as Harry staggered to his feet. 

“Oh, you could kiss me and make it better,” Harry suggested.

Scorpius rolled his eyes and sighed, but by the way his shoulders relaxed, he was relieved. “And that’ll fix your head, will it? As if anything could, at this late date.”

“It’ll make me feel better,” Harry countered. “So I won’t notice the great dent in the back of my head.”

Swatting him, Scorpius pinched out a smile. “You _have not_ got a dent in the back of your head. Unless it was already there and that’s why your hair sticks up so atrociously.”

Harry grabbed Scorpius by the wrists and pulled him closer. “No, no dents. All systems fully operational.” The boy didn’t look like he knew what to make of this bit of Muggle phrasing. “You could still kiss me, though,” Harry persisted.

“You’re twice my age,” Scorpius pointed out.

“And twelve times more taken with you than any boy your own age,” Harry countered. Harry didn’t press, though. He wasn’t going to do it unless Scorpius said yes, but he did want Scorpius to actually give it a moment’s thought. One of Harry’s thumbs moved, searching for the soft skin of Scorpius’ palm. 

Scorpius’ eyes fell shut, his body quivering. “Please,” he murmured, his voice husky.

Harry leaned forward, resting his forehead against Scorpius’. “Say please again,” he whispered.

“Please,” Scorpius said.

Harry sighed. He was satisfied with this moment; it would be enough to hold him over. “You’re voice is like an aphrodisiac,” he said quietly in Scorpius’ ear. “I can’t believe I want you this much. I want to touch you, to make you feel good. I want to watch your face and lose myself in your pleasure. You make me want to _give_ again. Do you know how strange that is? The world might have lost to Voldemort after all, if he’d been as gorgeous as you are. You have the most perfect mouth I’ve ever seen.” Harry was proud that he’d managed that last sentence without slipping the word ‘fuckable’ in there anywhere. He was already coming on rather strong—and fast, too. He didn’t want to send Scorpius running for the hills. At the same time, it had needed saying.

Scorpius laughed, rolling his eyes. “The lips that launched a thousand curses?” he suggested. “Look, I _really_ need to get home.” He tried to push Harry back, but Harry still grasped his wrists.

“Will you see me again?”

Scorpius hesitated.

“Say no,” Harry challenged. “You’re allowed to do that. I swear if you say no I’ll never bother you again.”

Tilting his head to the side, a petulant look came over Scorpius’ face. “Why? You said you liked me. That you wanted me.”

“And I care about you,” Harry said. “And it would only frighten you to pursue you if you didn’t want it.” He shook his head a little. “I don’t want you to be frightened.”

Scorpius frowned. “You don’t _scare_ me,” he insisted. “I just . . . you’re . . . not exactly my type.”

Harry gently brushed the tip of his nose against Scorpius’. “Then say no, and you won’t have to worry about it anymore,” he murmured.

Scorpius opened and shut his mouth.

“Will you see me again?” Harry persisted.

Scorpius looked at him for a long, long time. “When?” he finally said.

“Next weekend?”

“I have plans Friday.”

“Saturday, then.”

“All right.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to stare. “Really?”

“Yes, _really_. Were you counting on me to reject you?”

“Bracing myself for it, more like.” Harry smiled. “Why didn’t you say no?” 

Scorpius gave a quasi-shrug. “I didn’t want to.”

Harry laughed, then suddenly pulled Scorpius forward, kissing him. To his surprise and delight, Scorpius kissed back, although he was still sort of tense. Harry pulled away, let go of Scorpius’ wrists and grabbed his waist instead, twirling him in a little circle.

“You’re utterly _mad_ ,” Scorpius declared. 

Harry kissed him again. “There’s a pleasure sure, in being mad, which none but madmen know. Dryden, you know.”

Scorpius looked at him through narrowed eyes. “I wouldn’t have thought you the sort to read Dryden.”

“Erm, I didn’t. I read it in a book of quotes,” Harry admitted. 

Scorpius unsuccessfully tried to hide a smile behind his hand. “I see. Well, I really _should_ be getting back. I’ll see you Saturday. Are you going to Apparate me home?”

“Sure,” Harry replied, feeling like he could fly. He slipped his arm through Scorpius’ and escorted the boy home.

oOoOoOo

Harry woke the next morning with a smile on his face. The brilliant yellow sunshine was spilling through the curtains and he could hear birds chirping outside. He hopped out of bed, took a quick shower and got dressed. By the time he got downstairs, he was buttoning his shirt at the collar and whistling a cheerful tune.

Al, denizen of the night like any teenager, stopped eating his cereal just long enough to give his father a baneful look. “Can’t you put the showtunes off at least until I’ve finished breakfast and left?”

“Sorry,” Harry said with a shrug. Even Al’s morning grumps couldn’t put a dent in his good mood today. “Any messages for me last night?”

“Lils owled. She wants you to tell her all about your romantic date last night. There’s a list.” Al nodded to the counter where Harry found a note from his daughter: “ _What did you wear? What was he wearing? Did you wear that cologne I bought you for Christmas? Where did you take him? What did you have for dinner? What does he look like? What did you say? What did he say? What did you say when he said what he said? What did he say in response to what you said to what he said after what you said? Oh, my god, write me back right away! It’s so **romantic**!_ ”

Harry chuckled, making a pot of tea. 

Al, who was eyeing him suspiciously, set his spoon aside. “So . . . I take it you had a good time?” he said in a carefully neutral tone.

“Great time. Wonderful time,” Harry said, sinking down in a chair and waltzing away with the memory of kissing Scorpius. “Wonderful time,” he repeated softly. “And I’m going to see him again.”

Al looked crestfallen. “Again? When?”

“Next weekend.”

“But that means it’s _serious._ You’re serious about him!” Al accused. 

“Certainly. But you needn’t worry yet. I’m sure it’ll be years before anything happens, really, if ever it does. It’s just dating right now. I don’t imagine he’ll take me home to meet his parents anytime soon, or vice versa. Well, that’s where I get lucky, I suppose.” Harry frowned. On the other hand, even if he had no parents to make things sticky, Al, James and Lily would definitely complicate the matter. Lily might be accepting—she usually was—but Al would reject Scorpius just to be contrary, and Harry didn’t think James would be comfortable with the relationship either. 

“Does he know about me? Did you tell him about me?” Al was asking, his voice full of suspicion.

“Of course I told him about you,” Harry said. Al turned bright red and looked like he might explode. “You’re an important part of my life and anyone who can’t handle that isn’t the right person for me,” Harry added. Al promptly deflated, his expression sullen but also a little guilty.

Harry watched as Al stirred his spoon round and round in his bowl. 

“Done with that? Why don’t you rinse it out?”

Rolling his eyes, Al got to his feet and went to rinse out his bowl.

Harry poured a little milk into his tea, biting his lip. He shouldn’t ask—he knew he shouldn’t—but he _had_ to. Al was the only one who might know.

“So, er . . . ah, Al . . . if you were going to take a girl out, where would you go?”

“Huh?”

“For a date. You know. Where do blokes your age go on dates?” Harry persisted.

“My age? _My_ age?” Al blinked at him for several moments before scowling. Harry wasn’t sure if the boy had figured things out, but then Al smiled. It was a sweet smile. An awfully sunny, sweet, rather scary smile. 

“Well, right now we all like to go krumping,” he said.

Harry stared. He had no idea what Al was talking about. “Like . . . in a cave?” he asked slowly.

Al laughed. “ _No,_ Dad. Muggle clubs. Dancing. Krump dancing. It’s the new thing. But it’s kind of hard to do.”

“Oh,” Harry said, disappointed. He wasn’t even good at _regular_ dancing. He didn’t have a clue how to learn a dance he’d only heard of.

“You know that computer you bought me last year? I’m pretty sure we could find some video, if you wanted to look,” Al offered.

Now Harry was suspicious. “And you’re going to help me because . . .?” he prompted.

“Ten galleons,” Al said promptly. 

“Five,” Harry countered.

“Eight.”

Well, at least Al’s motives were clear. “Okay, eight it is.”

Al smiled again. Somehow it didn’t exactly look sweet. In fact, it looked sort of evil. “Great,” he said. “I’ll go get things set up.”

“Oh . . . good,” Harry replied, thinking this might be anything but.

oOoOoOo

They met in Diagon Alley for drinks. Harry felt his heart do a little somersault of joy when he spotted Scorpius at a table, looking sleek and casual.

“Hey,” he said, pulling up a chair. “Here.”

“More flowers?”

“Chocolate,” Harry replied. “White chocolate, actually.”

Scorpius bestowed a dazzling smile on Harry. “How did you know?”

“I mentioned your name at Honeydukes.” Harry waved the waiter over and ordered an Ogden’s Old and coke. “Anyway . . . ready for a night of fun?”

Now Scorpius looked a little wary. “Define ‘fun.’”

“You know, a few drinks, a little dancing, maybe a quick trip to the French Riviera . . .” Seeing Scorpius’ expression, Harry quickly backtracked. “Maybe we’ll save the French Riviera for our next date.”

“Maybe,” Scorpius said. “You still haven’t convinced me I _should_ be dating you.”

“My suave charms haven’t won you over?” Harry replied, feigning shock.

Scorpius looked down at the table. “You’re just . . . a bit mature.”

“Actually, I’m very _immature_ ,” Harry argued. “Just ask my ex-wife.”

Scorpius had to laugh. 

“Look, I’m as . . . as hip and with it as anybody,” Harry said desperately.

This did not have the effect Harry was going for, as Scorpius’ dry amusement seemed to grow. “I thought ‘hip’ was even before _your_ time. What did people used to say when you were young?” he asked.

This brought Harry up short. “I don’t know. I didn’t really get the chance to _be_ young,” he added quietly. He hadn’t gone out dancing when he was Scorpius’ age. He’d had other worries. Brooding, he took a sip of his drink. 

Scorpius surprised him by reaching out to take his hand and squeezing it. “Well, maybe it’s only fair that you make up for lost time, then.”

Harry hid his embarrassment by taking another drink.

Scorpius pushed his own drink away, obviously not intending to be roped into sharing his feelings and losing his inhibitions again. “Anyway,” he said brightly, “what’s on the table for tonight?”

“What do you feel up for? Ready to round up some Sherpas and conquer Mount Kilimanjaro?”

“Sadly I think that’s been done, and Sherpas are associated with the Himalayas, not Kilimanjaro. I think. Anyway, I don’t want to get nosebleeds,” Scorpius said. “Did you have a plan B?”

Harry scuffed one foot against the other with nervous energy. “Sure. Sure, I’ve got lots of plans. Loads of plans. Like dipping you in chocolate. Someday. Maybe,” Harry said, as Scorpius gave him the stink eye. 

“Where are we going _tonight?_ ” Scorpius demanded.

“Oh, best place in town, my love. We’re going to Meat Beaters. It’s a Muggle club.”

“A Muggle club?” 

“It’s the in thing, right? Come on, it’ll be fantastic.”

“A _Muggle_ club?” Scorpius repeated yet again.

“It’s got all kinds of wicked things,” Harry, still full of hope, pointed out. “They say the lighting’s amazing and the dance floor is extraordinarily large and they have six separate Jacuzzis and the best drinks around.”

Scorpius shrugged. “Sounds all right.”

Harry smiled and held out his hand. “Ready for adventure?”

Scorpius smiled back. “I don’t know. But I think I’m ready for something.”

They Apparated.

oOoOoOo

“Is _this_ the _club?_ ” Scorpius shouted; he _had_ to shout to be heard over the roar of the music and, worse, the throb of the drums. They’d barely set foot in the place and Harry already had a headache.

Harry looked around; Meat Beaters was supposedly popular with gay men, and true enough he saw many men kissing and touching, dancing close together, rolling their hips to the music. 

“The lights _are_ kind of wild,” Scorpius muttered. His face was pinkish even under the dazzling strobe and Harry noticed he was trying carefully not to look too closely at any of the entwined men.

Harry got them drinks and they stood by the bar, trying to make small talk in between bursts of raucous music and laughter. 

After a couple of drinks, Scorpius was finally starting to unwind. “It’s kind of slick, actually,” he said. “I like all the silver and chrome.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “And the lights.”

“Definitely the lights.” The lights changed with the music; glaring, twisting, harsh strobe lighting with heavy drums and base, zipping streams of colour in peppier songs. 

Finally Harry bolted down the last of his drink and set it on the bar with a thunk. “So. Want to dance?”

Scorpius looked unaccountably nervous. “Oh . . . dance. But the Muggles . . .”

“All you have to do is krump. We won’t make it complicated, right? Just the stuff everyone’s into.” Scorpius was looking puzzled, but Harry was hardly paying attention. “Here, I’ll start, even,” he offered.

He thought it was going well. The crowd backed off a little bit and gave him enough room. He wouldn’t do anything fancy—just a few chest pops, stomps and arm swings.

The music seemed right; the beats were right, everyone was waiting. Harry threw himself into the dance as aggressively as he could. He thrust his chest out in time with the music, started walking, then threw insome arm swings. It was hard to keep his arms right, but from what he’d seen, the arm swinging was pretty erratic anyway, so he didn’t worry about it. 

Everyone was talking excitedly, but he ignored them. It was too hard to dance if he didn’t concentrate on the music. Near the end, he managed to get down on one knee and sort of spin around before jumping up again.

Then the music ended. Some people were clapping, but others were sort of shaking their heads. Harry looked to Scorpius.

Scorpius had both hands over his mouth, his shoulders shaking.

“What did you think? Al said it was all the rage.”

Harry just managed to catch the boy as he fell over laughing, taking great gulps of air between squawks of hilarity. “What the hell was _that?_ ” he gasped. 

“That was _dancing_ ,” Harry shot back indignantly. “Very modern, aggressive dancing. Krump dancing. You weren’t impressed with my flares?” he added weakly.

“You looked like you got drunk and someone set you on fire,” Scorpius howled. 

Harry could feel the heat rising in his face, the bile rising in his throat. “Oh.”

“It’s hysterical. It could be the best defence in the world. Watching you dance like that could render anybody helpless with laughter.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. 

“Is this really what you do for fun?”

For fun, Harry went to Quidditch Games or out to dinner with his kids. Dancing and clubbing weren’t usually part of it. No wonder he’d fucked it up. “Not really,” he mumbled.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” Scorpius exclaimed. “That was the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen.”

Suddenly, Harry had had enough. “I think I should get home.”

“What?” The music had started again, and Harry was grateful for the unrelieved din. He didn’t want to explain how humiliated he was.

“I have to get home!” he said, a little more loudly.

Scorpius looked confused. “Now? We just got here. You aren’t—”

“I have to go,” Harry repeated.

Scorpius made for his arm, but Harry deftly sidestepped him and sprinted out the front door. As soon as he was away from the crowd, he Apparated.

Al was in the living room, ostensibly doing homework. “You’re home early,” he said with a cherubic smile. 

“Don’t even give me that ‘I’m interested in your life and I care about you’ bollocks,” Harry spat.

Al sat straight up, shocked, as Harry stomped passed.

“What happened?”

“You know exactly what happened. I made a complete idiot out of myself, just like you wanted. And now it’s over and yes, I’m home. Thanks. Thanks for your support. It really meant a lot to me,” Harry said bitterly. 

Albus Severus turned red. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t bother. I’m going to bed.”

Ignoring Al’s spluttering protests, Harry did just that. He didn’t even bother to take off his glasses or shoes. He just went to his liquor cabinet, grabbed a bottle of scotch, and crawled beneath the covers. Never in his life had he blown an opportunity so badly.

oOoOoOo

“Er, Dad?” Al knocked tentatively on the open door, but Lily turned to him with fury in her eyes.

“Go _away_ ,” she said. She was sitting on the bed next to Harry, wiping his face with a cool cloth. “Haven’t you done enough?”

“Just wanted to see how he was doing,” Al mumbled.

“You _know_ how he’s doing,” Lily said indignantly. “You just want to gloat like the brat you are. Go away!”

Harry moaned. “Keep it down, would you?”

“Sorry, Dad,” Lily said. “Sit up and drink the hangover potion Uncle George brewed for you. You’ll feel much better.”

Harry rolled onto his side with a heavy sigh. “ _Nothing_ will make me feel better. I’m such an ass. What on earth made me think I had a chance with him?”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Dad,” Lily soothed. “Really, you’re such a drama queen.”

Harry only sighed again.

By the time he rolled back, Al was gone.

oOoOoOo

A week later Harry had managed to get out of bed, but hadn’t bothered to shave or dress since his disaster of a date.

He glumly stirred his oatmeal, then set it aside. He had absolutely no appetite. He went over to the kitchen window and looked outside. It was another bright and glorious morning. Another hideous, painful morning. 

It wasn’t just that his plan to impress Scorpius had been an unmitigated disaster—it was also the fact that Al had been the one to set up the fall. He hadn’t expected the boy to be enthusiastic about the whole thing, but actively undermining him was a new low.

Harry flicked his wand, closing the curtains with a snap and slumped down at the kitchen table. 

“Dad?” Al was standing in the doorway, shifting from one foot to the other.

Harry sighed. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping until three in the afternoon? That’s how you usually are on holiday.”

Al came in and gave him an awkward peck on the cheek, something Harry didn’t recall him doing since he was about three. “Ouch. You need a shave.”

Harry looked at him, bewildered. “What was that for?”

Al shrugged. “Just to kind of say sorry,” he replied. “For being a berk and messing up your big day.”

Harry let out a long breath. “I don’t suppose it matters,” he grudgingly admitted. “It never would have worked out.”

Al sat down across from him and was silent for a long time before finally leaning forward, setting an envelope in front of his father.

“What’s this?” Harry ripped the envelope open, blinking when two tickets to the Puddlemere United/Wimbourne Wasps game. “These are for this afternoon!”

“That’s right—so you’d better go get ready.”

Harry grinned. “I guess a Quidditch game with my son _would_ be fun,” he said.

“Oh, _I’m_ not going,” Al protested.

Harry’s grin dissolved into a puzzled frown. “It’s a bit last minute to find someone to go with,” he said.

“Not a problem,” Al told him. “Scorpius Malfoy is meeting you there. He’s really into Quidditch,” he explained.

Harry stared. “Is this another way of apologizing?” he asked.

“Sort of,” Al said. He looked sheepish. “That and Scorpius cornered me in Diagon Alley a couple of days ago and told me I was ungrateful, spoiled brat and said if I got in the way of your relationship again he’d hex seven kinds of hell out of me.”

“I see. I’m surprised you didn’t hex him first.”

“I tried,” Al admitted. “He was faster and he got a few good curses in before a couple of bystanders separated us.” He smiled with grudging admiration. “He’s got a mean Hacking Hex.”

Harry reached across the table and squeezed Al’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

Al reddened. “You might have horrible taste in everything, but you’re still a pretty great dad,” he said. 

Harry grinned. “Guess I ought to go have a shave, huh?” he said.

“Better shower, too,” Al said, returning his grin. “Don’t want a Malfoy to accuse Potters of stinking.”

Harry ruffled his son’s hair on his way out of the room. “Good idea,” he said.

oOoOoOo

Harry changed his outfit six times. He put on some cologne, then washed it off. He even considered owling Hermione and asking if she knew any spells to make him look a little younger, but decided it wouldn’t be worth the questions.

In the end he gave up and wore the simplest outfit he could manage: a plain white shirt, jeans and his dragon-skin jacket. At least the jacket was a little rakish; the shiny black material was the closest thing to an accessory he would dare to wear.

He wasn’t going to go overboard this time, and he was _not_ going to screw this up.

Finally he put on just a tiny bit of the expensive French cologne his daughter had bought him, ran a comb through his unruly hair and trotted downstairs.

His kids were lined up beside the fireplace waiting, all three of them. 

“What’s all this, then?” he asked, nervously looking from one to the other. 

“We just wanted to offer some moral support,” Lily told him. “Remember, even if it doesn’t work out, we’re here for you.”

“Plus we wanted to make sure you didn’t have any spinach in your teeth,” James added with a grin. 

“Thanks,” Harry said. James thumped him on the back; Harry hadn’t noticed before, but the boy was now taller than he was. 

Al clapped him on the back as well. “Have fun,” he said. “Just don’t . . . er, tell me the details afterward,” he added.

“Right,” Harry said.

Lily gave him a big hug. “You look great, dad. Really killer—handsomest bloke at the Pitch, I promise.”

“Thanks, Lils,” he said. He stepped back and blew out a long breath. “Right. Here I go. Wish me luck!” he said, taking the canister of Floo powder off the mantle and grabbing up a handful.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Lily said cheerfully.

Harry grinned, tossed the Floo powder into the flames, and went to find Scorpius.

oOoOoOo

Scorpius was waiting for him by the entrance to the Pitch, hands in his pockets, hair rippling in the breeze. Harry fought back a surge of anxiety. Scorpius looked so insouciant, so remote.

Then he turned to Harry and smiled broadly, like dawn breaking, and ran forward to hug Harry tightly round the waist.

Harry felt dizzy disbelief. He’d missed Scorpius—no doubt—but the notion that Scorpius had honestly missed _him_ seemed impossible.

“Hey,” he managed.

“Hey yourself,” Scorpius said. He stepped back, looking suddenly shy. “Um. Al said you wanted to see me. I’m glad.”

“Really?”

“Really. Are we going up to watch the game?”

Harry nodded dumbly, following Scorpius and stumbling a little when Scorpius reached back to grasp his hand. They walked all the way up to the stands like that, Harry reeling at his fortune. 

_Don’t be stupid, Potter,_ he tried to tell himself. _He’s holding your hand. So what? What are you, twelve?_

But Harry couldn’t admit that his palms were tingling sweaty, and it was more than just the height. When they sat down, Harry observed the boy from the corner of his eye. Come to think of it, Scorpius didn’t really seem all that remote. He was wearing a Puddlemere United shirt and was grinning with unabashed enthusiasm.

“Look! It’s Cuthbert Costermonger! He’s considered to be one of the rising stars of Quidditch, you know.”

“Yeah?” Harry said. He couldn’t spare an eye for Cuthbert Costermonger; he was too busy gazing at Scorpius like a lovesick fool.

“Yeah,” Scorpius said. “He’s really good. Bet he could even give _you_ a run for your money,” he added, jabbing Harry in the ribs with an elbow. The jibe did what even the elbow could not.

“Hey!” Harry exclaimed. “I highly doubt he’s better than me. Do you have any idea how agile I am?”

“Yeah?” Scorpius said, arching an eyebrow.

“I get compliments on it all the time. Plus I’m fast and sharp-eyed. And I have great instincts. You can be as quick as you like, but if you don’t _think_ fast, you’re going to be a crap Seeker.” 

Scorpius grinned. “Glad to see you’re feeling more like yourself,” he remarked. “And I know you were good. I’ve seen your trophies at the school. I’m kind of envious. I like Quidditch, but I’m not _that_ good.”

“I saw you tossing the Quaffle with some of your friends,” Harry offered. “You had good reflexes. I bet I could teach you.”

“Really?”

“Sure. That’s something I really _do_ know how to do.”

Scorpius looked out at Cuthbert Costermonger, now circling a goalpost. “I’d like that. I’d love to be a professional Quidditch player. I can almost imagine myself soaring over the Pitch like the rest of these guys.”

Harry relaxed a little. “You know, after my stupid stunt the other night, I was sure you’d never want to see me again. I mean, you couldn’t seriously be interested in someone like me,” he added carefully, as if probing a wound. “You’re the sort of bloke who needs someone dignified and rich and handsome, all that rot.”

Scorpius shrugged. “Dignity is overrated,” he said. “Besides, I missed you.”

“You _did?_ ”

Scorpius nudged him again. “Of course I did. You like me. You genuinely like me, and you don’t play games. That’s . . . really refreshing. And it’s not just how you are about me—you really don’t hold anything back. Maybe you’re kind of out there sometimes, but I like it. It’s exciting. Embarrassing sometimes, but exciting, too. You aren’t afraid to try new things and say what you’re really feeling.”

Harry smiled. “I think the new thing I’ll try is being myself,” he said. “Instead of acting like a jackass and trying dance at crazy clubs. Luckily,” he added, “the real me is just as exciting as the fake one.”

Scorpius laughed. “I believe it. Just . . . no more really bizarre stuff in public, please.”

“I was trying to impress you.”

“Do me a favour and don’t try to impress me in public.”

Harry went still. 

“What?”

Harry held up a hand. He’d had an idea, but he had to turn it over in his mind a few times, looking for a downside. He wanted to make absolutely certain nothing about this idea would cause him to a) appear that he was drunk or on drugs or on fire, or possibly all three at the same time, b) do anything so over-the-top he’d regret it later or c) dance. 

After thinking it over carefully, he decided his brainwave might cause ‘b’ to happen, but probably not ‘a’ or ‘c,’ so he thought he was safe. 

“ _What?_ ” Scorpius nagged.

Harry grinned. “Want to do something together after the game?”

Now Scorpius looked suspicious. “What?”

“Live a little,” Harry told him. “Take chances.”

Scorpius shook his head, smiling a little. “I guess. You’re weird, you know that?”

“You might have mentioned it once or twice.”

“I like that about you.”

oOoOoOo

After the game, Harry went down to find someone to make arrangements with. He finally found someone who directed him to the manager, and a great deal of money changed hands—or at least the promise of a great deal of money.

Then Harry took the stairs two at a time to find Scorpius.

“Where’ve you been?” Scorpius demanded. “The place is almost empty. I felt like a right twit, sitting here all alone.”

Harry just grinned. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Come _on_.” Harry hurried him along by grabbing his hand, dragging him down the steps and whipping him around corners, Scorpius trying to keep up, pulled in Harry’s wake like the tail of a comet.

Finally they reached the Pitch. They were both huffing and red-faced.

“What are we doing down here?” Scorpius asked when he had breath enough. Being younger, he’d recovered a lot more quickly than Harry could.

Harry signalled he’d need another minute, but just then the manager came over with a couple of brooms. Scorpius looked at his blankly. “What’s this for?”

“Mr. Potter has reserved the Pitch for another hour,” the manager explained.

“He _what?_ ”

“It’s a little surprising just after a game, but not unusual that he should do so. We rent out for many events—parties, corporate gatherings, weddings . . .”

Scorpius turned a lovely shade of pink and took the broom offered to him. “Weddings, huh? We’ll keep that in mind.”

Harry beamed. “I just thought, since you like Quidditch so much, maybe you’d like to practice on a real Pitch.”

Scorpius stared at him, speechless. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Better than dancing?”

“Yes!” Scorpius exclaimed. “Better than anything!”

Harry accepted his broom and threw one leg over. “I think you’ll find it’s not better than _anything_ ,” he replied. “But good enough for now. Come on, before we lose the light.” He kicked off and Scorpius followed. 

Once up in the air, Harry did a couple of barrel rolls and a dive or two before he felt at home. It was a wonderful evening; the sun was sinking, heavy and orange, and a few stars had poked out.

“You really are good,” Scorpius noted with admiration.

Harry grinned. “See if you can keep up,” he said, and dove.

Scorpius was after him like a shot.

Harry led him on a merry chase, round the goal posts, high into the air, through loops and drops and sharp turns. Scorpius was very good. Still not as good as Harry, but possibly the best Harry had ever gone up against.

The thought of ‘going up against’ Scorpius distracted him and the boy nearly ploughed him over. 

“This is fun,” Scorpius said. “But we don’t have a Snitch.”

Harry laughed. “We don’t need a Snitch. It’s time for basics right now, and flying is a basic. Besides, I’ve already got one shining thing to follow. I’d be right torn if I had to go after two.”

It was Scorpius’ turn to laugh. He looked flirty. “Then I think it’s your turn to follow _me,_ ” he said. He was off before Harry could answer, and Harry quickly went after him.

Scorpius was _fast_ , when he wanted to be. He hurtled through turns and did flips and always seemed to know when Harry was about to reach him; he rolled in the air, and Harry’s hand closed on nothing.

God, it was exhilarating. Harry had never chased anything he’d wanted so badly. 

Finally, Harry realised if he wanted to catch Scorpius, he’d have to figure out where the boy was going to be, rather than trying to catch him up. 

Then next time Scorpius circled a goal post, Harry darted to the other side. Scorpius’ eyes widened—he tried to swerve. But Harry reached out, snagged the boy’s shirt, sending them both into a spin. 

They whirled around and around in circles, Harry clutching Scorpius. 

They were still spinning, lazily now, revolving around one another. Harry reached out and cupped Scorpius’ face. “Can I kiss you?”

“You don’t even have to ask,” Scorpius told him with a smile.

Harry pulled him close, kissing those soft, warm lips as they lazily pirouetted in mid air, slowly sinking to the earth.

As they reached the ground, Scorpius reached up as well, wrapping his arms around Harry’s shoulders. The shadows had reached out, turning everything to evening blues. Harry kissed Scorpius more deeply, tilting the boy’s head, dipping his tongue into his mouth.

Scorpius moaned slightly.

Someone coughed, and they broke apart guiltily.

“Are you finished with the Pitch?” the manager asked.

“Yes,” Harry said. “For now. Um. Mind if we use the showers?”

“Be my guest,” the manager smiled, pointing the way.

Harry led Scorpius off the Pitch, one arm wrapped snugly around the boy. 

Scorpius laughed giddily. “I’m glad you caught me,” he said, sounding delighted. 

“I knew I would, if I tried hard enough.”


End file.
